


Glass Heart

by RayneAuster



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-17
Updated: 2016-10-26
Packaged: 2018-08-23 01:39:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8308771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RayneAuster/pseuds/RayneAuster
Summary: Yuuri really didn’t want Yurio to win. He wanted it. He wanted that grace, that beauty and that mesmerizing charm and the only way to get it would be to snatch victory away from an overconfident Russian rugrat with more talent in his pinkie than he knew what to do with. A glimpse into Yuuri Katsuki's introspective thoughts as he struggles to deal with everything that's happening around him.Chapter 2 (Preview): “Okay, okay.” Yuri grumbled, pulling out his cell phone. “I’m dialling… Wait, we’re in Japan! I don’t have phone numbers for doctors in Japan!”





	1. Skating on Thin Ice

**Author's Note:**

> I don’t know where I’m going with this or even if I’m going anywhere at all at this stage but I really wanted to add my two cents to this fandom, so here goes.

_Tap, whoosh._

 

The soft sound of his blades connecting with the ice filled the ice rink, quietly announcing his presence. Or it would have, if there was anyone there to hear. It echoed through the empty space, lingering in the air even as it changed, its tone and rhythm shifting with each move he made.

 

He needed it, almost as much as he needed his next breath. His mind and heart were seeking it out, seeking comfort in the familiar. It hurt. His heart was filled with anxiety and fear and he only had himself to blame.

 

Yuuri was running away…

 

Again.

 

_Whoosh, whoosh, tip… whoosh._

 

He threw himself into an Axel jump, his body drifting through the air before connecting with the ice once more, gliding backward towards the centre of rink.

 

He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t compete against Yuri Plisetsky and win. There was simply too much at stake, too much pressure on him to succeed and everyone knew what happened when Yuuri was under pressure. Self-destruction. It was his fault. It was always his fault. He let it get to him. Waves of anxiety and fear would course through him, rushing in to take over his mind only to leave him off balance and kilter. It had happened then and was happening again now.

 

Back, cross, back, cross, back cross over and… jump.

 

_Click._

 

He executed a double loop jump and extended his right leg back as he continued to glide across the ice, the movement gracefully natural and effortless. It was so ingrained into his very being that he didn’t even pay attention to it, his mind still lost in introspection.

 

He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t bring honour to his parents, his community or his country. He’d tried. He had made it all the way to the Grand Prix. He’d worked hard for the opportunity to represent his country on one of the biggest stages known to figure skating and what had he done when he’d finally been granted it? He’d crumbled.

 

He’d told himself it was because Viichan had died but deep down he knew it wasn’t entirely true. The truth was that he simply couldn’t handle the pressure.

 

_Pivot. Hop and glide._

 

He’d always had a problem with it, his tendency to mess up at the most important competitions a big contributing factor to the fact that it had taken him so long to qualify for the Grand Prix to begin with. He should have been better. As a skater, he knew he was better than that… better than his performances and his stats indicated but it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter that he could skate all of his routines in his sleep. Nor did it matter that he could execute difficult jumps as easily as he breathed because he couldn’t do it with everyone watching him. He couldn’t do it when it really counted.   

 

 

_Three turn, toe step, glide, death drop, sit spin._

 

He grabbed his right ankle and buried his face in his knee, for a moment losing himself in the feel of the cool air brushing against his skin, crisp, fresh and so very familiar. He revelled in it, breathed it in and tried to drown himself in the sensation as he would a lover’s caress, still trying to convince himself that this, this moment, the ice and his connection to it was enough.

 

Only it wasn’t.

 

Empty.

 

The ice was cold and empty beneath him, its frozen surface as bleak and unforgiving as the truth he was still too weak to acknowledge. Five years. He’d spent five years running from it and still it continued to haunt him. He was in love with Yuko. Had been from the moment she first defended him against Takeshi.

 

He could still remember the flash of pain that had coursed through him the day she had told him she was engaged to be married. He’d been shocked speechless, his mind unwilling to comprehend what she was telling him. He’d missed it. He’d somehow managed to miss all the signs and had been stunned to find out she’d been dating Takeshi for almost three years by that point. Three wasted years that he’d spent trying to muster up the courage to tell her how he really felt.

 

That was the day he decided to leave japan.

 

_Upright spin, tap, twist, turn and glide._

 

Escape.

 

Yuuri used figure skating as a means to escape. The intricacy of the movement, the soft rhythm of the ice and the difficulty of the manoeuvres all served to distract him from whatever he was running away from at the time, be it bullies, chores, stress or even his own social awkwardness. His entire reason for taking up the sport in the first place had been the fact that he could lose himself in it, in the beat of his blades gliding across the ice, the magic of the music coursing through his veins and the sheer sense of freedom he experienced each time he threw himself up into the air.

 

 

_Triple salchow. Twist, glide, hydroblade._

 

And for most of his life, the tactic had worked. Until that fateful Grand Prix that is. His failure there had shone a harsh light on his shortcomings and in an ironic twist of fate had robbed him of his sole source of comfort. It left him with no choice but to run back home in a bid to flee the one thing he’d always relied on to help him escape the reality of the world around him.

 

Yuuri had failed. He’d messed up a routine he knew better than the feel of his own skin and to make things worse, he’d done while skating on the same ice as his lifelong idol.

 

Victor Nikiforov.

 

Now there was an enigma he couldn’t solve. He never failed to surprise him. Ever since Yuuri first saw him skate it was an unending chain of surprises, each successive routine drawing Yuuri further into the world of professional figure skating. It was a world he yearned to be a part of. He wanted it. He wanted that grace, that beauty and that mesmerising charm.

 

_Extend, Spiral, Counter turn._

 

And so he’d begun to imitate him, learning and copying each routine.

 

_Cross, Double toe loop, triple lutz._

 

Repeating the process over and over again as he chased after him. He knew he wanted it, that grace and beauty and mesmerising charm but what he didn’t know was whether he wanted to be him or be _with_ him.

 

_Click, glide change-foot spin._

 

The answer to that question hadn’t mattered, both options as unobtainable as the stars. A leopard couldn’t change his spots and the chances that he could change his personality enough to even remotely compare to Victor was laughable at best. His chances of meeting his idol had been higher but he’d gone and messed that one up shortly after his rather dismal loss. Victor had offered him the chance to have a commemorative photo taken and he’d walked away, too ashamed of his performance to even stand by his idols side and that had been the end of that.

 

Or at least it should have been.

 

Only it wasn’t.

 

Victor Nikiforov never failed to surprise, his every action another link in that unending chain of surprises that followed in his wake. Yuuri knew that, expected that but never in a million years would he have guessed that one of those surprises would be an offer to coach him.

 

_“Yuri, starting today, I’m your coach. I’ll make you win the Grand Prix Final.”_

 

His heart had soared, with the news, nervous excitement dancing in his blood and he couldn’t help the flicker of hope that stirred to life deep within him. He wanted this, wanted it with every fibre of his being. He wanted to be him, to be _with_ him and to soar through the skies of dreams he hadn’t dared to even hope for.

 

Only he knew then that it was too good to be true. Things like that simply didn’t happen. Not to him. Not to someone who had dashed the hopes of an entire nation in one foul swoop.

 

_Check, twist, counter turn, cross stroke._

 

He’d struggled to believe it, struggled to accept a version of reality he’d never even contemplated, but still he’d fought. He’d fought to lose all the weight he’d gained just for the chance to once again skate one the same ice as his idol. Even if it was as his student and not his equal.

 

Only…

 

_Skid, stop._

 

Yuuri ground to halt and scanned the empty seats before him, his mind already filling them with people. The anxiety he’d been trying to escape was still very much there, coursing through his veins, visions of failure already flashing through his mind. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t compete against Yuri Plisetsky and win. There was simply too much at stake.

 

If Yuri won, he’d get Victor. They would go back to Russia and Yuuri’s fleeting dream would be over. His chance to have Victor at his side would be gone before he even really had a chance to savour it. If Yuri won, Yuuri’s heart would shatter and with it any hopes of saving his skating career. If Yuri won…

 

Yuuri really didn’t want Yurio to win. He wanted it. He wanted that grace, that beauty and that mesmerising charm and the only way to get it would be to snatch victory away from an overconfident Russian rugrat with more talent in his pinkie than he knew what to do with.

 

Which brought him to his next dilemma.

 

How?

 

How was he, someone with not even an ounce of natural talent, supposed to beat someone that was literally overflowing with it?

 

_Turn, glide, cross over, bend and up._

 

Yuuri began to move once more, slipping into a routine almost as familiar as his own as he gave into the urge to copy one of Victor’s programs.

 

_Glide, quadruple lutz, twist, turn, quadruple flip._

 

He could do it. He could skate one of Victor’s programs and not fail.

 

_Cross, jump, glide, centered camel spin._

 

He’d done it more times than he could remember or even count but it didn’t matter. Being able to skate these routines in an empty ice rink would get him nowhere, his skill lost with no one to see or appreciate it.

 

_Extend, twist, lunge, flip jump, twist, twist, death drop, flying sit spin, up and check._

 

He could do it and even though it didn’t matter in the greater scheme of things it mattered to him. For a brief moment in time he could be him, his body moving in time with the image imprinted onto his mind, moving in time with Victor’s as the music took flight.

 

_Glide, cross, cross, quadruple salchow and forward and back, triple axel, tap, double axel._

 

He could do it. Here, away from prying eyes and judgement, he could spread his winds and fly, one with himself, the ice and the shadow of Victor dancing in his mind.

 

_Glide, twist, check, twist, glade, back, forward and around._

 

He was free, the anxiety in his heart slipping away as he lost himself in the comfort of emulating his idol.

 

_Triple lutz, glide, triple flip, reach, back, back._

 

A flash of yellow hair flickered in his mind, Victor’s image fading away to be replaced by Yuri’s familiar figure, flawlessly executing Victor’s routine in his place.

 

_“If he’s going to take the next season off I wonder if he’ll let me use his program.”_

 

_Quadruple toe loop._

_“I know I can surprise people more.”_

 

Yuuri’s heart sank.

 

_Triple toe loop._

_“We don’t need two Yuri’s in the same bracket. Incompetents like you should just retire already. Baaaaka!”_

 

And that’s when it really hit him.

 

He was in trouble. Yuuri had mistimed his second jump and his instincts were unable to help him recover as he tumbled graceless back down to the ground. The fall was inevitable, rushing towards him with ever increasing speed, his mind too shocked to truly comprehend what was happening. The moment his skates connected with the ice, his blades slid out from beneath him, momentum pulling the rest of him down.

 

_Thud._

 

His head connected with the ice with a dull sound and the image of Yuri faded away to join Victor’s shadow in darkness.


	2. Conflicted emotion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter title nicely summarizes my feelings about this story. I still have absolutely no idea where I'm going with this. I guess it's probably closer to drabbles than an actual story. The entire tone of this piece is really strange but I can't seem to change it. Maybe I'll delete this...

“Yuuri.” A soft voice drifted into his awareness, tender fingers making their way across his face. They traced his brow, his cheeks and the line of his jaw. “Wake up, Yuuri.” The digits were long, graceful and fluid, gliding gently across his skin. “Come on, open your eyes.” The fingers made their way back up his cheeks, across his temple and onto his forehead.

 

Yuuri hissed in reaction to the sharp flash of pain that coursed through him when those fingers brushed over a tender spot just below his headline. “Good, he appears to be awake.” The same voice continued appearing to be speaking to someone else now. “Yurio, call a doctor.”

 

“Me? Why me?” A brash voice responded, a hint of anger in the tone. “He’s the idiot that decided to skate alone and get himself hurt! If it were up to me I’d just tell him get up and shake it off. Actions have consequences and…”

 

“Yuri!” The soothing voice turned curt, the word clipped and abrupt.

 

“Okay, okay.” Yuri grumbled, pulling out his cell phone. “I’m dialling… Wait, we’re in Japan! I don’t have phone numbers for doctors in Japan!”

 

Yuuri did not understand the words that followed but he didn’t really need to. The expletive was uttered in Russian and the speaker’s tone made the meaning more than clear. Wait… Russian… spoken by someone other than Yuri. That had to mean… “Victor.” The name escaped him on a breath, given voice before he could even think to stop it.

 

“I’m right here.” Victor soothed, his long fingers travelling through Yuuri’s hair. “Don’t worry, we’ll get you sorted out in no time.” He said, attempting to reassure Yuuri before turning his attention back to Yuri. “Yurio, Minako works not far from here. Go ask her who we can call.”

 

“How many times do I have to tell you not to call me that.” Yuri protested, the sound of footsteps beginning to echo through the empty space around them. “I haven’t been here long and have already managed to have my name taken from me. As if that wasn’t enough I’ve now been demoted to some kind of errand boy that has to wander about and…”

 

“Yuri.”

 

“I know, I know, I’m going. Make sure the moron doesn’t die before I come back.”

 

Victor didn’t even bother to muster a reply to that last comment and the echo of Yuri’s footsteps faded softly away. Which meant…

 

Yuri’s breath caught in the back of his throat. His world was still surrounded by darkness, his eyes still closed in an attempt to deny the reality of the situation he was in.

 

Yuuri Katsuki was alone on the ice with Victor Nikiforov!

 

On any other day, under any other circumstances, it would have been a dream come true only it wasn’t. Not like this, not with him lying sprawled across the ice, suffering from an injury he probably should have been more than skilled enough to avoid.

 

He reached down towards the ice intending to push himself up only to groan when another flash of pain made its presence known in his head. He abandoned his initial idea and instinctively reached for his injury, his body curling in on itself in reaction.

 

Long arms wrapped their way around him. “You probably shouldn’t try to move until the doctor takes a look at you.” Victor reprimanded him softly before lifting him up off the cold ice.

 

The whole world titled on its axis, his stomach lurching in reaction as it spiralled out of control. Nausea rushed through him, his frozen skin somehow managing to go even colder and he had to fight really hard to contain the primal instinct coursing through him. He’d never be able to live down the mortification that throwing up all over his idol was sure to bring.

 

Victor chuckled. “I’m going to start thinking you don’t like me if you keep pulling that face, kobuta-chan.” He adopted a light teasing tone before gliding across the ice. The soft familiar resonance of blades connecting with the ice told him that Victor was wearing his skates. Which didn’t make sense. Had he not been alone?

 

Yuuri reached out and grabbed hold of the fabric against his cheek, clinging to what could only be Victor’s shirt, his world shifting in more ways than one. He was dizzy, pain and nausea sweeping through him in waves in reaction to the blow he had taken to the head but that was the least of his problems. His world was shifting, moving around him as Victor skated to the side of the rink but it was the shifting emotions within that confused him the most.

 

He wanted to be him, wanted to be _with_ him and even though he had half of that goal literally in his grasp, something was still not quite right.

 

He pried his eyes open and glanced up at the all too familiar features, registering the soft silver hair, the sparkling blue eyes, the noble features and the flawless skin. Victor Nikiforov was a work of art. His flawless features, graceful style and fit figure were a far cry from Yuuri’s soft cheeks, strange rhythm and pudgy body and the fact that he now had Yuuri pressed firmly against his chest only served to make the contrast more notable.

 

“Why hello there, kobuta-chan. It’s nice to see those big brown eyes of yours again.” Victor said, his tone light and playful as he stepped off the ice. “I was beginning to think you didn’t want to see me.”

 

Yuuri flushed in embarrassment, subconsciously reaching up to push his non-existent glasses back up only to remember that he’d taken them off earlier. He settled for dropping his hand back down instead. “I’m sorry.” He apologised.

 

Victor quirked an eyebrow in question. “What are you apologising for?”

 

What indeed…

 

If he was to be entirely honest, he wasn’t entirely sure. The apology was an instinctive reaction, automatically slipping past his lips in a bid to hide the true depths of his discomfort. It was easier that way. Simpler to apologise and accept blame than to figure out what he really felt. He was, after all, socially awkward. He couldn’t even begin to understand most of the social situations he found himself in, let alone figure out how he was supposed to react.

 

“Falling, I guess.” Yuuri chose the easiest explanation, his skin flushed in reaction to the sudden shame and embarrassment that coursed through him with the statement. It really had been stupid. He really shouldn’t have fallen. He knew better. Better than to let himself be distracted while performing potentially dangerous figures and patterns. It hadn’t been a problem before. The magic of the ice had always easily grabbed and held his attention, his heart and soul so intimately acquainted to its sirens call that the very idea that he could be distracted had never even occurred to him… Until Victor that is… Victor and Yuri.   

 

“Kobuta chan.” Victor’s smile was almost angelic. It appeared to radiate pure innocence but if there was one thing that Yuuri had picked up since meeting him, it was that the expression could be more than a little deceptive. “There’s no need to apologise for falling. Everyone falls on the ice.” His words were gentle, almost reassuring and could have been taken as comfort if not for the hard glint that suddenly entered Victor’s pale blue eyes, giving Yuuri a split second warning that his coach’s next words were not going to be as gentle as the ones that came before. “What you should be apologising for is coming here without my explicit consent.”

 

Yuuri gulped.

 

“Especially when I recall explicitly ordering the two of you to rest till tomorrow.” Victor placed Yuri down into a bench before sitting down beside him, still supporting Yuri’s back. “What are we going to do if you can’t skate at the Hot Springs on Ice event that was organised especially for you?”

 

It stung.

 

The question stung but Yuuri couldn’t really fault Victor for asking it because he was right. Yuuri couldn’t afford this injury, couldn’t afford the time off the ice that would be required in order to allow him to recover. Not when there was so much at stake. Not when the competition that was going to decide whether Victor stayed in Japan or not was only seven days away. “I…” A stray tear coursed down his face, gliding down his cheek to settle on his chin. “I messed up.” He whispered, his mind replaying the echo of these same words uttered into a phone not all that long ago.

 

“Don’t worry about it.” Victor gently pet his head, his eyes softening once more. “We’ll figure something out.”

 

Victor’s words were meant to be comforting, were meant to reassure him but they only served to highlight the depths of his failure because they shouldn’t _have_ to figure things out. They wouldn’t need to. Not if he’d listened in the first place and rested at home, not if he’d paid attention to what he was doing and not if he hadn’t stupidly attempted to land a jump he was probably better off just giving up on.

 

“I’m sorry.” He sobbed, raising a hand to cover his eyes in a rather futile attempt to hide the stream of tears now pouring down his face. Tears of shame, tears of failure and bitter tears of disappointment all mingling in a rush of emotion he couldn’t control. “I’m sorry I came here on my own, even though… even though…” He gasped and gulped trying to find the air he needed to say what he needed to say. “even though you wanted me to rest…. I’m sorry I fell. I’m sorry I hurt myself and I… and I’m sorry I ruined everything. I’m sorry, Victor-san… I’m really sorry.”

 

It was stupid, so very stupid and for the life of him he didn’t know how to even begin to fix his mistake, especially when he wasn’t entirely convinced it was a mistake. He was sorry. He was sorry he messed up and injured himself but he wasn’t really sorry he’d come here. Not when he’d been doing it his whole life. Not when it the only way he knew to stay sane but he couldn’t tell Victor that. He didn’t know _how._

 

But maybe he didn’t need to.

 

Long gentle fingers were dancing gracefully across his skin, brushing along his cheeks, his chin, his brow and through his hair but it was not their presence that caught his attention. It was the sound that accompanied them, Victor’s soft lilting voice gently filling the space with words that took his brain far too long to process. “No. It is I that should apologise. I may have been a touch harsh, Kobuta-chan. It’s okay. We’ll figure this out. I promise.”

 

They stung.

 

Victor’s words stung but something in them still managed to soothe a corner of Yuuri’s wounded heart. He shouldn’t have done it. He shouldn’t have injured himself stupidly attempting a complicated jump when he knew he was distracted and even though he hurt, sharp pain coursing through his head with each beat of his heart, he didn’t really regret it because he could feel it… He could feel his anxiety slowly slipping away with each gentle brush Victor’s fingers made through his hair.

 

Maybe getting injured wasn’t so bad after all.

**Author's Note:**

> This did not happen. I did not just write this. This piece does not exist… Damn it!!! I really need to get this fandom out of my blood before it drives me completely insane. Why? I ask you? Just why?
> 
> P.S: I know absolutely NOTHING about figure skating. The skating routine took me forever to figure out and write and I'm sure it's probably still horribly inaccurate ...


End file.
